It seemed as if everybody was just waiting for the world to end. Everyone was so terrified of the future that fear infected their perfect lives. Everyone I saw on the street, on the news, at the schools -they all wanted the same damn things: hope and knowledge. Everyone wanted to know what would come of their lives instead of living life as it came. Nobody liked surprises, and neither did I.
This was what I thought only 11 short months ago. I remember the night I looked in the mirror and patronized my own reflection. Blood-shot eyes looked back at me. They were hardly noticeable under my furrowed brows, and my doughy eyes were dewed with a thin coat of welded-up anger. And I was angry -angry with my family, the church, myself, God…
It started on a Sunday. As always, the church began the sermon with a psalm, where we all raised our arms in praise and worship. The pastor allowed us to sit as he walked to the podium. He smiled to us all, let out a sigh, and flipped his Bible open to a bookmarked page. The smile was still plastered on his face when he glanced back at the obedient crowd. I shivered and snuggled myself closer to my father, the chilly November air suddenly pricked at my flesh as it seeped into the small building. We were all gathered in a tight space, hardly enough room for any walk-ins, not like it was necessary. The pastor finally began his sermon with his frail arms raised like we all had before.
“How are God’s children this morning?” With his arms spread out wide and the sparky surge of light glowing in his eyes, I expected him to be shouting this, but his voice was drawn-out and soft. Equally reticent voices sputtered out their approvals and bobbed their heads. I scoffed at my father, who seemed so at peace for once. It always fascinated me how well he could act in here, even when just minutes ago, he was cursing to Hell about mom. It made me wonder if everybody else was acting too. And if we were all acting, then maybe even the pastor was. Maybe he has been for years. He continued to smile and his lips moved but all I could hear sounded like lies now. I scanned all the people around me and knew that behind their Christian masks, they were laughing. I mean, they couldn’t all really act like this outside of God’s house, right? That’s when he started rattling off the Lord’s prophets one by one.
“Thou shall not covet, thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor…” And with each commandment, a row rose from their peu and mimicked him with their arms spread out and reached for the ceiling. “...Thou shall not steal…” Around me, the wave continued contagiously, like a storm building and building for the ultimate climax of praise. I sat quite, still snuggled against my father’s cotton-like suit, trying to keep myself from rolling my eyes at the show.
“...Thou shall not commit adultery, thou shall not kill or wish to kill…” I fell from my father’s arms as he stood to join the congregation. He kept his eyelids firmly pressed together as if to trap any tears that may come loose. “...Thou shall honor thy father and thy mother…” I reached to grab his hand and a tear finally escaped the tight lock of his lids. “...Thou shall remember the Sabbath day...to keep it holy -be holy…” My father’s arms rose, unleashing from my grasp. An indescribable pain pierced my heart to find the mass all standing to reach Heaven around me, as I am curled up alone on the deserted bench. The pastor continued still, “...Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain, Thou shalt not make unto any graven image… no image of lust for any other than your spouse...no man to lust another man or woman to lust after another woman…” I remember the feeling of guilt sinking into the pit of my stomach as the noise and shouts of worship to God faded away until all I could hear clearly was the pastor's convictions now feeling more directed to me than anyone else. I wanted to shout. “...Thou shall not fall for another of the same gender…” I wanted to cry. “...or else you’ll anger your God who has saved you from falling into Hell…”
He finally opened his eyes to see the beauty of a holy church risen from the depths of their individual hells, everyone was standing. Everyone but me.
He eyed me but paid no mind. I finally rose only to worm my way through the crowd. I pushed through the doors of the church to the silent lobby and ran to the bathroom, not yet allowing the tears to break from my watering eyes. I hid in the stall, curled up and confused until I knew I was safe from the religious ranting. That’s when I realized that the lights were not on, but I stayed in the darkness, the switch was too far out from the comfort of the hollow stall.
And I finally let myself go.
I used to think that crying over the little things would make the big things hit harder. But at that moment, with the pastor's voice still echoing in my head, I saw that sometimes it’s good to just cry. It made me realize who was really there for me and who I missed most when I was so lost and vulnerable. It was the time when I was my weakest when I fell to the tile of that blackened bathroom and cried out in spite of how God thought of me. It didn’t matter why I was crying or even for how long because it was when everything was going wrong that I knew this felt right. For a split second, I felt like I was alone and God was going to throw me away..
But it was in those precious moments of weakness when my phone rang, it buzzed on the floor where it must have fallen. And when I picked it up I could hear a sweet voice and almost feel her hand rest on my shoulder as I cried to her until she said,
“I’m here for you Bird, always here for you.”
Well hello! My name is Jenilee Kimler and I'm new to steemit. I am a young writer and have always adored fiction. Then, a few years ago I realized my sexuality and it was a catalyst for my fiction today. When I was figuring this part of myself out, I read a lot of teen LGBT novels. It was a way to cope, and soon accept, myself for who I am. Once I came to terms with everything, I decided that the fiction I was reading was very repetative and predictable. The classics aside, many LGBT themed stories seemed like they were more for those confused.
I chose to begin writing stories that had characters already sure of themselves. Characters that already embraced their sexuality and then have to go through other life altering themes. Believe it or not, it is difficult to find novels where the main character just so happens to be of the LGBT community unless the story is focused completely on that. I got tired of reading a story about a teen girl going through a family issue and then being obsessed with a boy, when I did not relate to that feeling.
I couldn't find any more novels that had what I wanted, so I started writing my own. Enjoy!!